Enter a world where pleasure is a rite of passage. . .
Tia Mason is an alluring--and very experienced--young woman. But she is naive of her heritage as Chanku, an ancient, highly sensual race of shapeshifters. It will be up to Luc Stone to introduce her to her feral birthright--and its thrilling rituals. For Luc is also Chanku, and a special agent in heir cadre, the Pack. And Tia is everything he wants in a mate. . .
The attraction is instant, their thirst unquenchable. As Luc moves Tia inexorably towards her destiny, he prepares to introduce her to the Pack--where her favors will belong to the others as well. By the time her test is through, Tia will have proven just how willing, adventurous, and truly Chanku she is. . .but one ultimate explosive experience still remains. . .
WARNING! This is a REALLY HOT book. (Sexually Explicit)
In McKevett's 12th enjoyable if not especially suspenseful cozy to feature Savannah Reid (after 2006's Corpse Suzette), the saucy California PI lands a gig as bodyguard to actress Dona Papalardo, who's gained recent notoriety for her dramatic weight loss. When Dona's personal assistant is murdered, Savannah thinks the killer was aiming for Papalardo herself. But after another member of Dona's staff gets killed, Savannah must dig deeper, with some help from San Carmelita police officer Dirk Coulter. It turns out the two dead employees knew each other long before they signed on with Papalardo and shared a sinister past. While the identity of the killer won't surprise most readers, McKevett's critique of the cult of thinness, to which Papalardo succumbed by having a dangerous gastric bypass, lends this light read some heft. (May)
Copyright (c) Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. -- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.
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March 31, 2008
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Excerpt from Wolf Tales II by Kate Douglas
The tiny, southern California town of San Carmelita had its picturesque areas where Hollywood celebrities browsed for antiques, shopped quaint boutiques, and sunned themselves on pristine beaches. But Saul's pawnshop wasn't in any of those areas. Saulie's was on the other side of town, the part of town that the city council frequently discussed at meetings, trying to figure out new, cheap ways to spruce up the neighborhood. Or at least keep tourists out of it, so they wouldn't get themselves mugged or perforated by a stray bullet.
Nestled snugly between a tattoo parlor and a porn store, Saul's shabby little hockshop had been trading valuables of questionable ownership for instant cash for over fifty years. But Saul himself was neither shabby nor questionable. He was a character, and he also had character . . . which made him one of Savannah Reid's favorite people.
As she and her friend, Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter, left Dirk's old Buick and walked up the sidewalk toward Saul's shop, she stepped off the walk to allow a teenage boy and his pit bull to pass, giving the dog and his master plenty of room.
Wearing full gang attire and a surly, wanna-piece-of-me? scowl on his face, the gangbanger looked threatening enough without his wide-jawed, excessively toothsome companion. And while the streetwise Savannah had kids like him for lunch on a bologna sandwich spread with plenty of mustard and a dab of mayo, she made it a point to avoid pit bulls whenever possible.
Dirk nudged her with his elbow. "Afraid of a little puppy dog?" he said.
"Puppy dog, my hind end," she replied, her Southern drawl thick, despite all her years on the West Coast. "Remember when we saw a 'pup' like that one take a chunk out of a patrolman's thigh a few blocks from here? All because the cop jumped over a fence and into the wrong yard, chasing a perp?"
Dirk shuddered. "Gross. Like I'm gonna forget that one. We saw some pretty nasty stuff when we worked graveyard back then."
Savannah felt her own little chill. During the years she and Dirk had served together on the San Carmelita police force, they had seen some pretty nasty stuff in the noonday sun, too. Heart- wrenching, soul-scarring images that kept you awake at night. Unless you read a lot of trashy novels right before bedtime and ate a lot of chocolate--Savannah's remedies for just about any of life's unpleasantries.
Dirk was still a cop--still collecting nightmare material.
Savannah had moved on to greener pastures and become a private detective. Well, sometimes the grass was greener... when she actually had a paying client or two. Then there were the other times, like this one, when she had absolutely nothing to do except tag along with Dirk.
As they passed one seedy establishment after another, she wondered if there wasn't a better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than hanging out on the bad side of the tracks with a guy who had been gruff in his twenties and grumpy in his thirties. And now that he and she were solidly in their forties, he had worked his way up to a five-star curmudgeon.
Dirk let go with a deep, chest-rattling cough, which he tried his best to suppress. She knew why. And it wasn't going to work.
"That's the third chest cold you've had this spring," she said. "Not to mention the four sinus infections and all the sore throats."
He growled under his breath. "So, don't mention it. Don't you start nagging me, woman. I won't stand for it."
"Since when? I've nagged you to quit smoking since the day we met. Pointing out all of your faults keeps me from having to focus on my own. So, why stop now?"